rice and beans and guilt.

at weekly family dinner tonight
i felt an arm pull up the sleeve of my t-shirt slightly
as my mother, stepfather and i
carried on our shallow conversation. my grandmother
speculated silently on the tattoos she always forgets.
i've gotten them over the last six years, but
they're new to her every week, alzheimer's and all.
maybe it was wrong of me to keep my head turned
and ignore her, but i'm tired of trying to explain.
she raked her fork across her plate violently
and muttered something spanish and incoherent
under her breath as the meal and the banter went on.

after my stepfather's cocktails, the barely pink
vodkas and cranberry he calls cape codders
and glass of red with dinner
kicked in, my mom roped me into the kitchen
for our brief weekly talk.
at one point during our stereotypically ethnic
animated discussion i was waving my arms
in typical fashion and she noticed
my latest addition. grabbing my arm
and tightening her lips she asked
if i'd gotten another one, like she didn't know already.
i shrugged it off. she protested my hobby yet again
claiming she missed the bare arms i was born with.
this one meant something, but i wasn't ready to elaborate.

i countered with nothing and tried my hardest
to change the subject. she turned her back
and continued doing the dishes. in a comedic attempt
i grabbed a plastic shopping bag and pulled it over her head.
she went along with the joke by sucking air, pulling
the thin yellow plastic into her mouth.
we both laughed and realized how
odd our relationship is at times, two old souls
who know how to laugh
at the undying futility of it all. she forgot the reason she was mad
and i was relieved not to have to stumble any further
not that she didn't know already. she birthed a malcontent
and knows it, a plumber with a hard-on
for dead guys with a few last breaths worth remembering
but she knows she raised me right, proud of this mess somehow
and knows it'll be back next thursday.
(survivors breed survivors, but that's her story to tell
sometime.)
she handed me a bag of leftovers and hugged me goodbye.

i'll be back, tattoos and all.
i have to;
puerto rican women pray, you know.